


New Miserable Experience

by jujuberry136



Series: Hey Jealousy [2]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-06
Updated: 2010-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-17 12:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujuberry136/pseuds/jujuberry136
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily had thought she was prepared, rationally she’d known this moment was coming for months, but it was like being hit by a two-by-four when she’d been expecting a paper-cut. Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/176890">Hey Jealousy</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Miserable Experience

**Author's Note:**

> This story can stand alone, but makes much more sense if you you read Hey Jealousy first. Thanks to [](http://ambrosia4all.livejournal.com/profile)[**ambrosia4all**](http://ambrosia4all.livejournal.com/) for the beta, even if you do claim I’m too mean to Emily.

She doesn’t have to go; he’s made it so very easy not to. The invitation over email sent just before the workday ended, the short notice—so very many opportunities to turn down him down without losing face. From the cautious looks Morgan, JJ, and Garcia had been shooting her she wasn’t the only one to realize the intent behind Reid’s invitation.

Just once she’d appreciate it if the moratorium on inter-team profiling was actually upheld. Just once.

The looks themselves weren’t anything new; she’d been dealing with those since Garcia had spilled the beans. But then Reid had left immediately after they caught the unsub in North Dakota and Garcia had called the next afternoon as they were finishing up debriefing the local police chief and DA.

“I’ve got a riddle for you,” she’d teased, her voice tinny from the poor speakers on the laptop they had huddled around at her insistence. “When does ten and ten equal one?”

“Now that’s not fair momma,” Morgan protested, somehow finding a grin in spite of the bone aching tiredness they were all suffering. Al Jenkins, despite the utterly banal name had not been an easy man to catch — they still weren’t sure if his last victim would pull through.

“What? No takers?” Garcia looked at the screen with a wide grin. “Well, I guess I’d better spell it out for you.” She hit a few buttons before a picture flashed onto their screen.

Someone has stabbed Emily through the heart, but the team failed to notice as they jostled for a better look.

“Amelia Diana Reid, born at 12:13 pm at a whopping eight pounds eleven ounces and twenty one inches.” Garcia announced proudly as they soaked in the photo of a sleeping infant in a pink-striped knit hat. The screen flashed to another photo, this time featuring Reid — his hair more wild than normal — holding his new daughter and looking completely besotted while Elise beamed in the background from her hospital bed.

Emily had thought she was prepared, rationally she’d known this moment was coming for months, but it was like being hit by a two-by-four when she’d been expecting a paper-cut.

She closed her eyes, but couldn’t block out the sounds of her co-workers gushing over the new arrival to their family. It was taking every trick she had learned over the long years dealing with her mother to keep herself from collapsing on the floor in a fit of rage and sorrow.

“Look at those long fingers!” She clenched her fists, digging her fingernails hard into her palms. “Garcia how did you know to make a pink hat?” She tried counting to ten. “So that’s what you meant — ten toes and ten fingers — tricky baby girl, tricky.” She tapped her toes inside her favorite red boots.

“They look so happy! Such a pretty family picture!”

She had to get out of there. Somehow she made it to the women’s room and locked the door, sliding slowly to the floor. A scream was brewing in the back of her throat, but she swallowed it ruthlessly, forcing it back into the festering pit of yearning and hope. She hadn’t cried all those years ago; she hadn’t cried last week when her doctor brought up adoption yet again; she wasn’t going to break now.

She wasn’t _weak_.

A tentative knock at the door dragged her back to the cold tile floor and the unfortunate tan and beige color scheme.

“Emily,” JJ asked softly as she tried the door. “Are you all right?”

She needed to go reassure the team. She needed to go and coo over Reid’s baby pictures, pretending she wasn’t completely gutted by the sight of her co-workers’ obvious joy, pretending she wouldn’t happily shoot him for the same opportunity. But her arms weren’t moving like they were supposed to be.

She glared at them, but they stubbornly refused to move from clutching her knees to her chest desperately.

Emily cleared her throat. “I’m fine Jayge, just needed some water.”

The excuse sounded weak even to her ears. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“You sure you’re ok?” JJ asked.

“Probably just some bad Chinese,” Emily replied, starting to build up her walls again.

“All right. Well, we’re probably going to head back to the hotel in another few minutes. We’re pretty much done here and Stuart said he got a departure time at two.” JJ hesitated, clearly searching for words.

“Just spit it out,” Emily said after letting JJ suffer for a few minutes. It only seemed fair, she was sure whatever had JJ tongue-twisted was only going to make her grateful for her stubborn arms.

“Garcia said Reid asked that the team come over later in the week, apparently he and Elise are a little overwhelmed by family right now. He said he’d call or email later when it’d be a good time to visit.”

“Thanks, see you all in a minute.” Emily was fairly sure her voice didn’t waver. She mentally gave herself a gold star for effort. She waited for the familiar sound of JJ’s heels clicking across linoleum floor, but it didn’t come.

“We’re here for you, Em,” the other women said softly before walking away.

They were, but they would never understand. Emily was mourning the death of what could never be, the death of a long cherished dream. What could JJ know about that with her perfect boyfriend and beautiful baby? Or Hotch, who had Jack? Rossi and Garcia had both made it clear they were happy playing Auntie and Uncle, and Morgan always looked physically ill anytime the word “commitment” was thrown in his direction.

She wanted to be happy for Reid, she really did. She wanted to tease him about the upcoming sleepless nights, about the boys that would doubtlessly be sniffing around his door all too quickly, and corrupt the little girl with a love of makeup — and the suggestion to use her father as a test model. She wanted to be able to hear stories about Jack and Henry without thinking that the daydreams she’d had of a dark-haired child of her own would never come to pass.

She wanted to be back on solid ground.

But the dream wouldn’t die gently in the night. It fought dirty, haunting her as she passed women with strollers on her weekly run down the canal, taunting her with parents who clearly didn’t give a damn while she worked cases, and worse, getting her hopes up every time she was even a day late—that this time it would work.

So here she is, hands shaking, because at her core Emily Prentiss is a masochist. There is no other reason in the world she can think of to explain what she’s doing in this hallway, shopping bag handle damp in her hand, trying to work up the courage to knock—to face Reid’s little girl, to face the fact that there would be no little girl in her apartment, nor a little boy.

She’d tried ignoring that email. She tried to just focus all her effort into finishing up her paperwork from the Jenkins case now that they’d returned to DC. But work had betrayed her—it wouldn’t let her sink easily into oblivion. When Morgan, JJ, and Garcia finally left her alone in the bullpen, it didn’t get any easier. No one would blame her for not going, she knew that. But still, the email — and all it represented — lingered.

So instead of opening up the bottle of whiskey reserved for such occasions, Emily had gone home. She’d even managed a couple hours of sleep before waking up with the sun. She’d headed straight for the Smithsonian — while she loved Reid dearly, there was no way she’d ever willingly enter a Babies-R-Us again. Not with the plastic bag crumpled in the closet of her… guest room. She’d gotten her hopes up … no, not Babies-R-Us.

So here she was, in the bland hallway on the fourth floor of Reid’s condominium complex. Waiting for her hand to move.

When she finally knocked, she was amazed at how light she suddenly felt. It wasn’t easy. Just knocking on the white door had been harder than moving to Saudi Arabia, harder than going with Matt to the clinic in Italy, harder than reading that letter from her father. But she knocked.

And when Elise, tired but smiling widely, opened the door, wide enough to see Reid sprawled loosely on the couch behind her with a small bundle cradled to his chest tenderly, Emily didn’t run. She didn’t sob. She barely even felt her heart fracture a little bit more. Today she just wanted to be happy, so she stepped through the door with a smile. She might even mean it.


End file.
